I called her on the phone
by Hitmewiththestreetlights
Summary: Written for livejournal's femslash today’s not-so-annual porn battle. The prompt was Women's Murder Club, Lindsay/Cindy, phone sex...


Title: I called her on the phone…

Author: Hitmewiththestreelights

Fandom: Women's Murder Club

Pairing: Lindsay/Cindy

Rating: M… very M

Disclaimer: I do not own the Women's Murder Club or its characters or any likeness to its characters. I'm simply writing a work of fiction revolving around characters obviously not owned by moi.

Word Count: 2,185

Summary/AN: Written for femslash_today's not-so-annual porn battle. The prompt was _Women's Murder Club, Lindsay/Cindy, phone sex_. I hope I did it some justice.

Also, this fic is un-beta'd because I have no beta, so all glaring mistakes are all mine and if you catch something so glaringly obvious that it needs to be changed, please, just let me know! Oh, and another also, the title is from the song, "Wow, I Can Get Sexual Too!" by Say Anything.

***

Sometimes Lindsay wonders if Cindy's mouth _ever_ stops moving. It's really unbelievable how she can say so much in so very few breaths or how she _always_ has something to say or even how she has an excuse for _everything_ even when she really doesn't.

"It's a gift," Cindy had told her once when Lindsay had actually breached the subject as a very subtle hint to shut up, which of course Cindy didn't get and started on _and on_ about this reporter in like New Jersey or something who got a Nobel Prize for her work and as she very easily and almost naturally eased into a complete different subject Lindsay realized that those three words, that statement—_It's a gift_— was probably the shortest sentence Cindy had ever said to her.

And maybe it is a gift because either way, Lindsay is learning to enjoy it. Or at least when it's put to good use. Like right now for example…

"Remind me again why I'm not over there right now?"

Lindsay holds her phone between her shoulder and ear as she trudges barefoot to her bedroom, but not before casting one last glance at the blonde woman sprawled across her couch. She finally makes it to her room, closes the door and heaves a contented sigh as she leans her head against the wooden barrier.

"Uhh," She finally says, "because Jill had a _moment_ which resulted in her passing out on my couch…" _AKA she drank way too much_.

Cindy chuckles—a sweet, alluring sound that loses absolutely none of its mirth even through the static of a phone line.

"That really is too bad…" she murmurs. Her tone is low and heady and Lindsay really can't help but shiver at the mere implications of it.

"Why is that?" Lindsay asks, working to tug off her jeans without disrupting her phone call.

"Welllllll…." Cindy draws out the word, grinning as she does so—or at least Lindsay's pretty sure she's grinning. "I'm wearing your favorite shirt…"

Lindsay's hands still on the button of her jeans, a perfectly arched eyebrow rising accordingly. She smiles, clutching the phone to her ear, suddenly very, _very_ intrigued.

"Oh yeah, and which one is that?"

Cindy bites her bottom lip, fiddling with the hem of said shirt.

"The blue button down with the pink square shaped buttons and the zig zagged stitched—"

"Cindy…"

"Oh right…" Lindsay can almost see the bashful smile and crimson blush that she knows are working their way onto the young reporter's features. "_Most importantly_," Cindy eases back into the subject (underlying subject) at hand. "I have nothing on underneath it."

"Nothing?"

"Absolutely nothing," Cindy confirms.

Lindsay swallows hard at the image. She finally manages to unbutton her jeans and quickly shimmies out of the offending material.

"Sounds like you're expecting someone really special…" she says into the receiver as she sits on her bed.

"Nope. Not expecting anyone. Just thinking…"

"I think you're doing a bit more than thinking…"

"Well," Lindsay can imagine Cindy is smiling and most probably tracing random patterns on the expanses of pale flesh of her abdomen. "I was thinking about this certain SFPD inspector,"

"Really?"

"Mhmm. Maybe you know her. Tall, sexy, works way too hard?"

"Sounds familiar,"

"Yeah… Well, I heard she's pretty upset because she ran out of plausible leads in her case today but bet I could help her wind down around now,"

"And how would you do that?" Lindsay asks. "Without, you know, interfering in her case whatsoever," she adds quickly, because she knows Cindy and the short chuckle she receives for her added statement affirms that she knows her _well_.

"Well, first I'd make it an order of business to get her out of that old tattered Police Force sweater that she likes to sleep in,"

Lindsay frowns, running her fingers over the loose hemming of her baggy sweater— she had put on the moment she had stepped foot in her house— as she takes it off. It is _kinda_ getting tattered… Not that she'd ever admit that to Cindy.

"Then," Cindy continues, "I'd give her a massage because she's always so tense even when she's off duty. I'd run my hands all over her strong shoulders, down her lower back and I'd keep doing it and when she least expects it then I'd kiss her, but only when she least expects it because she's always doing that to me, kissing me in the middle of a sentence and stuff like that so I'd give her a taste of her own medicine. I'd kiss her softly though because even though she's a badass and puts on this indifferent 'so-not-into-relationships-or-meaningful-sex-anymore' front, she so likes it when we're gentle."

"Sounds nice." Lindsay smiles. "I'm sure she'd like that,"

"Really?"

"Definitely. Even though your girlfriend sounds like she can be quite an asshole sometimes, she'd be an _idiot_ not to appreciate you,"

"Well, if she appreciates that, she'd appreciate what I'd do _after_ even more,"

"Hmmm… And what exactly would you do _after_?" Lindsay asks, grinning as she mimics Cindy's inflection.

Cindy pauses (biting her bottom lip in that cute nervous way, Lindsay supposes)—like she's not quite sure she really wants to divulge what she'd do next, which is unusual for Cindy—her _not_ wanting to divulge something she knows.

"I'd kiss you all over." She finally says, her tone soft, almost reverent as she lets the words slip out amidst a dreamy sigh. "Your jaw, your neck," she lets out a shaky breath. "I love the way you sigh when I kiss your neck…"

"I love the way you kiss my neck." And she really does love the way Cindy does that because Cindy's eidetic memory comes in handy for a lot more than meddling in/sometimes really saving Lindsay's cases. The moment Cindy had found that sensitive patch of skin that just always seemed make Lindsay's knees buckle, she latched onto that awareness, explored it for all it was worth (finding that if she dragged her knuckles across it she could make Linsday sigh but if she just let her breath breeze across it, she could make her moan), harbored it as some kind of cherished secret between them, even used it a couple of times as a sly (yet oh so innocent, because she's still _Cindy_) diversion to get Lindsay to agree to something she'd never in her right mind agree to under regular circumstances.

"I'd make my way down your chest _at my own pace_," Cindy continues, "Just my fingertips at first, then soft kisses… Then my tongue…"

Lindsay sighs, letting Cindy's voice—it has, if possible, taken on an even raspier drone—and words resonate within her. She's sure that if she wasn't wet before—which she was, she _definitely was_—she'd without a doubt be absolutely soaked now.

"I'd continue slowly…"

Lindsay lets her fingertips ghost across her sternum. She can practically _feel_ Cindy's shuddered breath and warm tongue across her heated skin; she can practically _smell _the heady scent of warm vanilla shampoo and lavender body wash that forcefully assault her senses whenever the redhead is around.

"…ignoring the way you arch into me, even though it's probably the sexiest thing ever, because even Inspector Lindsay Boxer has to learn patience; so, I'd make you wait. I'd nip at the flesh of your breasts, carefully neglecting your nipples even though they're so hard and dark and I really just want to take one in my mouth and lick and suck until you're so wet that I can hear the damp friction when you try to grind into me."

Lindsay's breath catches in her throat and she swallows hard, trying to calm herself a bit because it's suddenly hotter than high noon in Death Valley in her room and she can feel her head reeling from the combination of the heat, and the throbbing between her thighs, and Cindy's voice—_God_, she sounds _so_ into it too (she's probably idly caressing herself, Lindsay thinks)—and if she isn't controlled in this, it may just end before it starts.

"I'd trail my fingertips down your sides and then again with my fingernails while still licking and sucking at the flesh of your breasts until your skin is almost as hot and sticky as _you_ are…"

Lindsay mimics the described actions with her hands, the mere thought of her own fingers—cold and calloused compared to the soft, padded fingertips of Cindy's—being replaced by Cindy's fervent hands and lips and tongue makes Lindsay shudder and clench.

" And then I'd finally let my tongue brush across one of your nipples, circling the hard bud with the tip of my tongue, before biting down, just enough that you _feel_ it…"

And Lindsay does _feel_ it. The accompanying throb she feels between her legs as she lets her fingers close around a nipple is enough to make her buck, her hips thrusting into a vacuum of space that _should_ be filled by Cindy's warm body.

"And I'd do the same to the other nipple, lavishing it w—"

"Cindy, _please_!" Lindsay interjects, because she's far, _far_ beyond this point right now. Her whole body feels like just a bundle of heat, liquid and nerves, twitching at even the slightest provocation, at even the soft brush of air filtered by that creaky old ceiling fan above her head—even it feels humid, like a feverish caress. "Cindy, I need you," she chokes out and she swears she hears Cindy let out a little moan—so soft it's almost a purr—at the admission which isn't surprising, Cindy always loves it when she begs.

"Ok…" Cindy sounds even more strangled than Lindsay feels. "Take your panties off," And suddenly the atmosphere has been altered. Cindy's voice isn't just that husky, buzzing drone anymore; it's gruff and her speech curt. This isn't Cindy and what she would do to Lindsay if she were here anymore; this is Cindy and what she _is_ doing to Lindsay. This is the straight-to-the-point Cindy that Lindsay just can't get enough off.

She quickly slips out of her panties; they're soaked, she knows it.

"Ok…" she breathes out, letting Cindy know that she's complied with her request.

"Good…" There's a breathy support airing through Cindy's tone and Lindsay knows that tone well. She imagines that Cindy's idle caresses aren't so idle anymore and _that_ thought—Cindy, hair wild and splayed across her pillow, in nothing but that open blue button down with her fingers between her legs, stroking slowly—is enough to flair the throb between her legs to an almost painful point. "Are you wet?" Cindy asks, voice ragged and uneven.

Lindsay lets her fingers slip between her thighs, caressing warm, and sure enough, wet (_drenched_) folds.

"Yeah…"

"Good…" Cindy says again. "I'm lapping at the wetness that has trickled down your thighs right now…"

Lindsay clenches her eyes shut, imaging the warm tip of a tongue trailing circles up her thighs.

"God Linz, you taste and smell so good that I can't even be bothered to tease you. You're just so hot and wet…"

Lindsay trembles, a soft moan escaping her throat as she lets her fingers glide across her flesh. Man, she's so glad that drunk Jill could sleep through an earthquake.

"I let my tongue dart out and taste you. Long, hot strokes. I'm licking you from top to bottom, letting my tongue swirl against your clit on every stroke."

"Oh God…" Lindsay moans, fingers stroking with intent. Cindy's has intent too, Lindsay can tell by the cadence of her breathing that she's getting close and the notion that Cindy is getting off whilst thinking about getting her off brings Lindsay a tad closer to her climax.

"You're getting close…" Cindy husks and Lindsay just circles her swollen bud a bit harder. "You're close. I can feel it."

_She is_! She's very close and so is Cindy.

"I want you to cum so badly…"

And that's all it takes. Lindsay is crying out and crashing blissfully into the waves of her orgasm even before Cindy finishes getting her sentence out and then Cindy is following soon after, her voice hitching and straining just a bit as she rushes air into her lungs.

There are a few long moments of silence on the phone line as each woman tries to catch her breath.

"Linz?" Cindy breaks the silence, her voice still strained even though the breathiness has seemed to cease.

"Mmm?" Lindsay responds. She feels so heavy and light all at the same time now that's she's pretty sure all she can do at this point is snuggle into the covers—she'd rather snuggle into Cindy—and go to sleep.

"I love you," Cindy breathes out and Lindsay smiles.

Actually, maybe those three words, that statement, is the shortest sentence Cindy's ever said to her.

"I love you too,"

And those four words, Lindsay's sure, are the only words she can say that prompts _nothing_ but a contented sigh as a reply and she likes it that way.

The End


End file.
